Osir Keryon Ste Teina (our souls are intertwined)
by Luxor Nautalis
Summary: Seven months after walking away from Clarke on the mountain, Lexa returns to Camp Jaha, seeking forgiveness and understanding. The question is, will she receive it? (clexa two-shot)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer;** I do not own 100, blah blah blah.

 **Authors Note;** This fic was inspired by the song 'Back to December' by Taylor Swift and is the suggested listening material.

 **Rating;** T

 **Pairing;** Clarke/Lexa with slight Clarke/Bellamy

* * *

Seven months after walking away from Clarke on the mountain, Lexa returns to Camp Jaha (it is an odd name for their village, she thinks, but she doesn't comment). Abby, Marcus and Bellamy meet her at the gates, welcoming but cautious. Lexa cannot stop her eyes from searching the crowd for blond hair and blue eyes any more than she can stop the disappointment that wells inside of her when she doesn't find them.

She forces down the irrational fear that Clarke is dead - the men she has watching the fortress tell her the leader of the Sky Clan is safe.

The trio leads her into their council chamber. She sits and they talk about trivial matters - mostly the stores they have gathered for the coming winter (they are woefully unprepared), thoughts on relocating to a more permanent residence (one closer to TonDC) and the help the Trikru have given to the Skykru. In the end, it's nothing Lexa hasn't already heard from Indra. It's not the real reason for her visit, anyway.

Lexa notices Bellamy studying her with an unreadable expression; her jaw clenches and she dismisses it.

It takes her an hour to crack and, when she does, she speaks as casually as she can, her eyes traveling around the chamber. "Clarke is absent," she drawls, focusing on her nails as if they are far more important than the sky girl. "Is she no longer apart of your council?"

Bellamy's jaw clenches and Lexa realizes that she's just reveled her true intentions to the man. Abby and Marcus, however, remain oblivious, the former smiling politely. "Yes, she is. Your visit surprised us - she's out with a hunting party, otherwise I am sure she would be here, Commander."

Lexa doubts it.

"She should be back by nightfall," Marcus adds.

"She is back now," a voice comes from behind them. They all stand sharply, as if welcoming a king into their midst. The Sky boy grins at the blond, but Clarke only has eyes for Lexa. He notices. The Commander meets her gaze, unfaltering.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Clarke continues, her expression twisted with anger, echoed in her words.

Lexa can see the others standing stiffly out of the corner of her eye, as if they expect a brawl to erupt at any given second - they probably wouldn't be wrong. Before the Commander has a chance to answer, however, Marcus clears his throat.

"Perhaps we should give them some privacy." A soft hand on the crook of Abby's elbow, gently pulling her along, is required before the older woman moves to exit, passing a glance between the two young women before she does.

Bellamy, however, lingers.

His dark eyes give Lexa a dangerous look - the gaze doesn't break until Clarke softly speaks his name. Silent communication passes between them, which Lexa does not understand. She hides her anger at this fact. After a few long moments, the man nods.

He doesn't leave immediately, however. The distance between him and the blond closes, his hand cupping her jaw, lips pressed to Clarke's. Lexa tenses, the hand resting on the pommel of her sword clenching. Bellamy, when he breaks away from Clarke, sees this and smirks.

Lexa can read the message for what it is - a claim on the sky princess, smug and arrogant. Her hand clenches harder and it takes every ounce of her iron strong self control to keep from plunging her sword into his chest.

She ignores the fact that it's her own fault.

"Be safe. I love you," the man whispers, just loud enough for Lexa to hear. She is sure it is intentional.

Clarke only nods, offering a shaky smile. With one last stroke of his thumb across her cheek, Bellamy leaves. It takes many more moments for Clarke to lift her eyes again, locking with Lexa's green.

She resists the urge to flinch at the coldness she finds there.

"Why are you here?" There is a vulnerability this time that wasn't there before and Clarke's hand rests atop the back of one of the chairs circling the table, as if it would hold her up.

At first, Lexa doesn't respond, at first. "I - I came to see how you were faring," the Commander answers, surprisingly honest.

Clarke snorts. "We're doing fine - believe it or not, we can survive without your help."

Lexa's mind shoots back to a memory, right before she tasted the blond's lips for the first time, right before Clarke broke her heart; 'Maybe life should be about more than surviving - don't we deserve better than that?'.

She shakes it off, "That's not -" the brunette forces the words to stop, instead clearing her throat, directing the conversation in a less painful direction. "Your mother seems well."

Clarke studies her for a long moment, as if trying to figure out her intentions. Her spine is stiff, eyes untrusting. Lexa can't really blame her - after all, the last time Clarke had seen her, she was walking away from the sky girl, leaving her (and the remains of the 100) to die.

It is the fifth time she underestimates Clarke.

"She is," the blond replies slowly, cautiously.

"And you?"

"I am, too."

Lexa nods solemnly, not completely sure if she believes Clarke, but the only emotion reflected in the blond's blue eyes is caution and mistrust with the burning embers of anger. There had once been a time when Lexa was able to read every thought on Clarke's mind, just by looking into her eyes. Those times, she reminds herself, are gone.

"Winter will be here, soon," she comments casually, avoiding the topic she fears discussing yet knowing she won't walk out of this room without the old wounds being ripped open.

Blood, after all, must have blood.

She was unused to seeing Clarke so guarded, so closed off but Lexa knew she could only blame herself.

The blond sky girl only nods in answer. Lexa falters, until Clarke speaks. "Where have you been?" It's spoken almost hesitantly, as if she doesn't want to ask, "No one's seen you for months."

"Polis, mostly," Lexa answers slowly, fiddling with the ribbons decorating the hilt of her sword, "Traveling between the clans. There were matters I had to attend to - clan disputes that had to be resolved lest there be more war." It was her greatest fear - that the coalition would fall with victory. The mountain has fallen, their common enemy vanquished.

And the clans, more than anything, craved war. That, coupled with generations of distrust and disagreements was bound to end badly.

Clarke's expression, for a moment, shows concern, her eyes scanning Lexa's body, lingering on every visible patch of skin, searching for new scars. It lightens the Commander's heart, if only for a moment, before the expression is hidden behind a mask once more.

Silence stretches between them.

Lexa tries again, "Octavia and Lincoln seem very happy - Indra tells me they have announced their intentions to join."

"They are," Clarke agrees, finally relaxing just enough that the tension in her jaw softens as the corners of her lips twitch into the beginnings of a smile, "Much to Bellamy's disappointment."

Lexa's brow shadows, "He disapproves of the joining of our clans?"

"Lincoln is one of _us_ ," Clarke reminds firmly, "Bell trusts him, but Octavia is his little sister," She shrugs, "He's over-protective. He'd act like that toward any guy."

Lexa nods, the next question on the tip of her lips - she wars with herself whether to ask it or not. In the end, her need for an answer is too great, so she does. "The Sky Boy - you are his, now?"

Clarke immediately wants to object to the phrasing - she isn't an object to be owned, but she knows Lexa's real question; 'are you with him'? Instead, she focuses her anger in another direction - the audacity of the Commander.

"What did you _expect_ , Lexa? That I would wait for you to return and we would ride into the sunset together?" She scoffs while Lexa, in a rather un-commander-like move, shrinks slightly. "You _betrayed_ me. You turned your back on me and then left me on the side of a mountain to die."

The brunette nods, just the barest tip of her chin. For the first time since the moment they met, Clarke thinks Lexa looks young, like the teenager she is, not the great Heda of the 12 Clans. She looks open and vulnerable and _broken_. It doesn't sway Clarke to compassion - to her, it is not near what the Commander deserves.

"It could have been you," Clarke growls, pointing to the door where Bellamy has long since disappeared.

Lexa nods. "I know...and the thought of that will haunt me until my fight is over."

"The why?!" Clarke shouts, taking two long strides toward the brunette, whose eyes are focused on the floor, refusing to meet her own. "Knowing everything we could have had..." She trails off - it is a dangerous thought, "why?"

When Lexa speaks, it is softly, barren of the strength her tone usually holds, "I did what I ha-"

"What you had to do, I know," Clarke continues with a bitter laugh.

Lexa stiffens her spine, her eyes lifting to lock with blue. "Is it not what you did?" She asks, "You sacrificed the mountain dwellers for the sake of your people. How is that different from what I did?"

Clarke knows Lexa doesn't mean the words as a weapon - that much is obvious by the Commander's almost gentle tones - but the words still bite into her flesh like a blade, making her flinch. It takes a long moment for her to answer, "It's not. It's not, but I wouldn't have betrayed you to do it."

Lexa wants, more than anything, to believe that's true but the truth lies right underneath the surface - Clarke would have done anything to free her friends (she proved it, in fact), even betray the alliance, betray her. She, however, doesn't say that.

"We had a good plan," Clarke continues as Lexa remains silent, "We could have _won_ \- if you had just _trusted_ me."

"And how many of our people would have died, Clarke," Lexa points out, just as vehemently as the blonde, "How many would have died for the sake of the few?" Her head shakes, "Besides, do you really believe, if my men had breached the doors, that they would have spared those you deemed innocent?" Clarke's brow furrows in confusion. "They would have cut down any man, woman or child in their path. _Jus drein, jus daun_."

Minutes pass in silence, their eyes locked in a silent show-down, a battle of wills that neither is sure they will win.

It is Clarke that finally breaks, "How could you do it?" She asks in the barest of whispers - Lexa has to strain to hear her, "You tell me you care about me, you kiss me and then...you just walk away, as if I meant nothing to you."

Lexa's expression softened, the Commander chancing a small step forward. "I did my duty."

Once more, Clarke scoffs, "You chose with your head and not your heart, right?"

The brunette ignores her counterpart's bitter tone, instead nodding. "Yes, I did." Her head shakes, "You don't understand, Clarke. I am the Commander - my people come before myself, _always_. I am expected to sacrifice _everything_ for them."

Clarke's eyes are all fire, her jaw clenching and her eyes darting to the floor for second as she fidgets, "That's not right - it's not fair."

Lexa's smile is small, sad. "Every day, I ask my people to leave their families and fight, _die_ , if necessary, to protect my land, my people and me. I command their lives - how is it unfair for them to ask and expect the same of me?" She sucks in a slow breath, her booted feet eating up more of the distance between them until a scant few feet remain - Clarke does not retreat. "I am not my own person, Clarke - I belong to them and every decision I make is for the sake of those I command. What I want doesn't matter."

More space disappeared between them. Lexa's hand reached up, tentative, cupping Clarke's cheek in a gesture eerily similar to Bellamy's. "If I was not who I was, if I could just be Lexa and not the Commander, my choice that night would have been different."

Not for the first time, Lexa envies Lincoln. He has the freedom to love Octavia - though it cost him his people, he could love her freely, openly. He didn't have a nation, thousands of lives, that came before that love.

But, she was who she was. Her fate was sealed. _Hodnes Laik Kwelnes_ \- she should have followed her own advice, for now, she would have to suffer the pain of loving two women only to have both taken from her.

It didn't stop her heart from breaking as Clarke breathed out a sob, leaning forward until their foreheads were pressed together. It didn't stop her eyes from closing, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled the blond's scent deeply.

"I forgive you," Clarke breaths, tears leaking from her eyes. Lexa wipes them away with a tender stroke of her thumb, "I forgive you."

A last kiss graces the sky girls' lips, soft and slow just as their first. She savors it - they both do. When they pull apart, foreheads still locked, green eyes find blue. "It does not change who we are, no matter how we wish it to."

The Commander pulls away, studying Clarke's face, committing every detail, every freckle and blemish, to memory. It won't be the last time she looks upon this face, but it will be the last she can gaze upon it freely.

Clarke, she remembers, is Bellamy's now, not her's. The only time she'll see the blond again is in the council chambers, or perhaps in the streets, of TonDC, until Lexa returns to Polis.

A second more and Lexa steels herself, brushing past the sky girl's shoulder. She only makes it three steps before she stops, indecision warring inside her. "I think about it sometimes, you know," the Commander whispers. Her head turns, just enough so she can see Clarke out of her peripheral vision.

The blond turns around to face her at the words. "Think about what?"

A moment passes, "What it would be like, if we were not who we are - If I was simply Lexa and you were simply Clarke, not the Commander and the Chancellor."

Clarke doesn't correct the mistake of title. Instead, she fights away more tears and asks, "What is it like?"

For the first time since Lexa entered Camp Jaha, for the first time since she left Clarke on Mount Weather, she actually smiles, wide and genuine with a touch of sad resignation and a dreamy air. Clarke is sad that she only gets to see half of it.

"Beautiful," the mighty Commander breaths wistfully, "Like the taste of victory in your grasp, or the sound of the wind whistling through the trees." Lexa turns to fully face Clarke once more, her smile faded but her eyes gentle, holding every ounce of love she holds for the blond, "Like the sight of the sun dancing upon your hair, or the ocean swaying in your eyes."

Clarke's battle with her tears is lost - they stream freely down her face but she smiles, too. "Tell me about it?"

Lexa hesitates but only for a moment, the plea in her love's eyes and voice commanding her, "There is a cabin by the lake, nights spent in one another's arms and days where our only worry is hunting for the evening meal. There is no Skykru and Trikru, no Mount Weather, no war...just us," she hesitates again, "And the laughter of a child with eyes like the sky and hair like the sun."

Clarke sobs. Lexa is in front of her in a split second, hands buried in her hair, lips clashing with hers. This kiss, in conflict with their others, is harsh and demanding. Clarke matches her every move - the battling of tongues, the clashing of teeth.

Too soon, Lexa withdraws, pulling the slighter woman into her arms, burying her face in her neck, hands splayed across the planes of her back. Clarke clings back, her fingers locked in Lexa's braids.

"May we meet again," Lexa breaths against Clarke's ear, their cheeks brushing together softly, "Clarke kom Skykru, Heda of my heart."

With a whirl of her cloak, Lexa turns, breezing from the room without a backward glance. In the hall, she meets a smirking Bellamy, mistaking her blank expression and burning eyes as a sign that Clarke has rejected her - if only he knew.

Lexa is out the doors of the ark wreckage, nearly to her horse before she hears her name called behind her. Her steps falter. Against her better judgement, she pauses and turns - just in time to catch Clarke throwing herself at her.

The Commander catches her, arms winding tightly around the slighter girl's waist. She is confused, but the feeling of Clarke pressed to her makes her not care so much - even if it will just extend the inevitable.

Until Clarke utters, "Take me with you."

Lexa withdraws, her expression, for once, open and unmasked; shock, surprise, confusion and then, slowly, understanding. Her eyes flash to the crowd gathered behind them, Lincoln and Octavia, Marcus and Abby, Raven and Jasper and Monty, Bellamy last of all. The Sky boy's face is drawn tight, his jaw clenched, hands grasping perhaps too tightly at the rifle he holds.

Her eyes lock with blue. "If you do this, it cannot be undone," she warns.

Clarke nods vehemently. "I know. Take me with you. You told me you would take me to Polis, so take me now."

Slowly, Lexa nods. Her eyes never leaving Clarke's, the Commander motions for her guard to bring her horse. Abby's protests are silenced by Kane, Raven's by Octavia. Bellamy remains silent, only watching. With a flourish, Lexa mounts her stallion - a large black destrier - and holds down her hand to Clarke.

The blond takes it, using the stirrup to hitch herself up, aided by Lexa's strong grasp, and positions herself behind the Commander, her arms clinging around her waist, her nose buried against Lexa's shoulder. Neither look back as she spurrs her mount through the open gates of Camp Jaha, her men following behind her.

* * *

 **Author's Note;** the second part of this installment is already in the works, so look for it soon! Also, I am taking prompts - you can either send them to me here, or on tumblr at my Lexa rp account (hedaofthe12)


	2. Chapter 2

Three months pass after Clarke leaves with Lexa (abandons them, Bellamy insists). They make plans to move Camp Jaha to a more permanent residence, one that isn't mostly made up on wreckage from their former home and tents surrounding it.

For this, they enlist the help of the Grounders. Indra agrees, though Bellamy can tell it's not because she _wants_ to - she's been _commanded_ to. It makes his jaw clench and his hands curls into fists.

Even with the planning, Abby refuses to actually begin construction until Clarke returns - so she will know where to find them, the Chancellor insists. He bites his tongue. If she wanted to return, she would have already.

He is bitter, this he knows. Lexa just _had_ to swoop in on her white (black, _whatever_ ) horse and swoop his princess out of his arms. He can't understand it - Lexa betrayed her, broke her heart and still, Clarke ran away with her as if the only souls left in the world were them. As if her mother didn't matter. As if the 100 (or what remains) didn't matter.

As if _he_ didn't matter.

Still, with all his anger, he holds out hope. His eyes scan the horizon, searching for the crown of golden hair. It never came. Six months after Clarke leaves with Lexa (abandons them), he stops looking.

Another three months pass and Abby begins to accept that her daughter isn't coming back. Construction begins on Unitatem, their new 'village' (meaning unity). It's slow going, considering the last vestiges of winter still grip the land. The snow has yet to melt and they've only got rudimentary tools to work with, for the most part. Parts from the Ark are scavenged and used but getting them from Camp Jaha to Unitatem is a problem in it's own. Plus, Raven and Wick are still working on setting up solar panels so they have a source of power for their more important assets (such as the medical bay).

Abby insists on building a hut for Clarke - again, Bellamy holds his tongue. The more important buildings go up first - the 'hospital', 'city hall' (glorified council chambers, really), the building that will serve as the armory and base of Military operations, the huts of the more important members of the Skikru, lockup, etc. Construction on huts come next. While the bulk of Camp Jaha work on their new home, the Council works on mapping out their new government.

Bellamy thinks it's foolish - they're on Grounder land, under Lexa's rule. They have no government of their own, but he lets Abby and Kane have their fun and he's promoted to the Head of the guard (and, in times of war, their general), so he doesn't complain much. A promotion is a promotion, after all.

In the dead of night, in the silence of his tent, he muses about just how far he's come. He wishes Clarke was here to see it.

It's a year and a half before they see her again, just as they're making preparations to make the final move to their new (finally finished) village. Bellamy spots her first, just blurry figures in the distance. It isn't until he snags a rifle from one of the guards and lines the sights up with the party that he recognizes her.

She's riding in the lead, her bright golden hair shining like a beacon in the sun - it eerily matches the coat of the mare she rides. On both sides, two guards flank her, large, burly men that would put the fear of God into anyone with common sense. He doesn't pay them any attention.

Instead, he sounds the alarm, both excited at her arrival yet equally cautious. It's been a long year and a half, after all. A lot can change in a year and a half.

As soon as the word that Clarke has returned gets around (it takes all of twenty seconds), he is joined at the gate by Abby, Kane, Raven, most of the remaining hundred, Lincoln and Octavia. They're all practically bouncing with their enthusiasm - he barely contains himself from doing the same.

It isn't until Clarke is nearing the gates that his enthusiasm stiffens. Even from the distance, he can tell she has changed. He notices that his sister and Lincoln are already stiff, their expressions blank and their heads tipped slightly downward in a show of submission. It causes Bellamy's jaw to clench, even as Clarke rides through the gates and pulls her mount to a halt.

Clarke dismounts and Bellamy studies her, unnerved by what he finds. She looks well, her cheeks a bit thinner, having lost their baby fat completly. Her features are sharper, her body fuller, more defined.

She is encased nearly entirely in black leather, eerily similar to the ensemble she sported the day she brought Mount Weather to it's knees. Only, this time, she's draped in a black leather coat with a long train, gauntlets encase her forearms and shoulder guards hang from her shoulders. The hilt of a sword peek from behind her right shoulder, another strapped to her left side. The pommel of a knife hangs beside it with another peeking out from the lip of one of her calf-high boots. Behind her pillows a long, flowing red cloak (he wonders if it belongs to Lexa - if not, it's an exact replica), and her hair is pulled away from her face, done into intricate braids.

She looks like she's ready for a war to erupt at any second. She looks like a Grounder.

It isn't until he takes in the still, stoic expression plastered on her face that he realizes exactly _how_ much. Even as she takes in the sight of her friends, her mother, _him_ she doesn't even crack a smile. He expects her to smile, at least, when Abby steps forward to hug her - it doesn't come and she stiffly returns the embrace (the same thing happens with Jasper, Monty and Raven, though her lips do twitch a bit). Blue, ice-like eyes survey them all.

It unnerves him.

Octavia comes next, Lincoln on her heels (as he always is). Neither embrace the blond. Instead, they cross an arm over their chest, fist resting above their hearts, and bow their heads. He manages to catch them whispering, in perfect sync, ' _Kehn_.'

Her body guards stand stiffly at her side, hands on their swords, eyeing everyone closely as if they're going to lunge at her at any second.

Abby is beaming, obviously not noticing the drastic changes in her daughter (or, perhaps, ignoring them), even though the rest of them seem to have caught on to the fact that this is _not_ the Clarke they remember.

"You've come home," Abby whispers softly, reverently. If possible, Bellamy notes Clarke stiffening even more.

"I've come as a messenger," Clarke returns sharply. Bellamy's eyes narrow while they all wait for her to continue, "The Commander will be arriving soon."

Kane's brow furrows, a hint of worry in his eyes, "Is something wrong?"

Clarke shakes her head. "She is simply in the area and would like to come pay a visit to the Skikru."

She even speaks like them now. It sends a shiver down Bellamy's spine.

Almost as if dismissing them all, her head turns to the side, focusing on the two guards on her right. " _Gyon au_ , _prei, festiv souda ogud gon heda. Strik taim emins,"_ leaves her lips almost naturally.

" _Sha, Kehn_ ," The Guards answer her, bowing their heads before drawing the bows from their saddles and trotting through the gates, heading toward the dense woodland.

"What did you say to them?" Abby asks, equal parts horror and curiosity as she stares at her daughter.

Clarke's lips twitch. "A feast must be prepared for the Commander - they are going to hunt for it." She nods to her mother, smiling but Bellamy can tell it's forced. "If you'll excuse me, I have preparations to see to and my men must set up our sleeping quarters."

She breezed past, her guards following behind, Lincoln and Octavia behind them. Only his sister spares a small, apologetic smile but it doesn't seem like she has much choice. Bellamy has a feeling that, with Clarke here, she and Lincoln are under _her_ command, not Abby's or Kane's.

"Well, _that_ was weird," Raven drawls, rolling her eyes and limping back to her work. He agrees with her. It isn't until much later that he realizes that Clarke never even glanced his way.

He watches her throughout the day. Her two guards have busied themselves with setting up their tents, hers looming over their own (it seems sort of unfair to him, considering she's so much smaller). Lincoln and Octavia take their place at her side with their absence. Clarke is never left unattended.

It makes him bristle with anger. She's acting like she's strolling through an enemy camp, not her home. No one here is going to hurt her, yet she goes nowhere without at least two armed guards and she's armed herself. He wonders if it's Lexa's doing, which makes him wonder how Clarke can stand it. Is the Commander so possessive that she won't allow the blond anywhere without guards?

It seems sort of stifling, to him. He does, however, see her speaking with Lincoln and Octavia quite animatedly and she even seems to crack a smile once at something his sister tells her. It was fleet and barely there, but it was something. His glower deepens - has Lexa forced her to change to much that she doesn't even smile anymore?

As soon as Clarke's guards finish setting up the tents, they rejoin the blond. Lincoln chooses to stay with the Arker-turned-grounder, while Octavia heads his way.

"Hey," she greets, settling beside him on the log. His attention never strays from Clarke and the three men surrounding her, but he mutters the greeting back to her.

Octavia holds her hands out to the fire, warming them and they spend the next few minutes in silence. "You've been watching her all day," the girl observes. "She knows you have."

Bellamy snorts. "How would she know that? She hasn't looked at me all day."

"She felt it," Octavia answers.

He snorts again - of course she did.

More silence passes until Bellamy finally breaks, asking the question that's been floating around his mind all day. "When Clarke first entered camp...you called her something. What was it? The Grounders said it to her, too."

Octavia stiffens. "It, uh - Kehn. I said Kehn."

He has a distinct feeling that he's not gonna like the answer, but he asks anyway, "What does it mean?"

It's several seconds before Octavia answers, her tone hesitant. "Queen. It's - it's her rank."

Bell's gaze snaps to her, narrowed and dangerous. "Her rank?" he drawls slowly, his tone low and just as dangerous as his eyes, "So, she really has gone Grounder, hasn't she? If she's leading them," there's a pause before he bitterly adds, "Instead of us, like she should be."

His sister sighs. "Look, Bell, I know you're upset she left you and everything, but she's here now. Can't you just be happy about that instead of glaring daggers into her back?"

"That's not Clarke - I don't know who that is, but that's not her." He pauses. "That's the stranger Lexa's molded her into."

Octavia rolls her eyes. "First of all, Lexa didn't have _anything_ to do with any of that," she begins, motioning her head toward the blond, "That was all Clarke's decision."

"Sure, whatever you say." He'll believe unicorns and leprechauns are real before he believes that load of shit.

"Look," the brunette says slowly, cautiously, "None of us know what she's been through, Bell. Even before she left, she wasn't Clarke - that mountain changed her. What she did...it changed her. It was eating her alive and we both know it." She shrugs, shifting her eyes to her friend, "Lexa helped her."

Bellamy scoffs again, his tense, angry expression deepening. "Helped her? I was helping her, O. Lexa destroyed her."

"No, she didn't." Bellamy starts at the sound of a familiar, raspy voice, wide eyes darting up to lock with Clarke's. Octavia doesn't even flinch - he realizes that his sister was aware of the other woman's approach all along (he tries not to think the word 'traitor' in a rather child-like grumble).

She's without her armor, cloak and coat, leaving her in a simple sleeveless shirt that hangs loosely on her frame. The sharp definition of her biceps surprise him, as does the tattoo on her left upper arm. It's an intricate, weaving design, forming some kind of a frame. He notices another one on the right side of her neck, peeking up from the collar of her shirt, formerly hidden by the high collar of her coat and the bulk of her shoulder guards. Her sword still rests at her side.

" _I_ destroyed me. Lexa put me back together." Without invitation, Clarke sits, mimicking Octavia's gesture and holding out her hands to the fire. Her eyes remain there, as well. "Octavia is right. What I did...it haunted me and Lexa - she made it not hurt so much." Her bright eyes, glowing by the firelight, flashes up to meet his - he shivers at the intensity in them. "As for the rest...well, Octavia is right about that, too. I didn't do this for Lexa, I didn't change anything for her. It just sort of...happened."

A ghost of a smile crosses her lips. happy and reminiscent. "The more I learned about her people, the more they fascinated me. If you actually tried to learn something about their culture, you would discover that they are amazing."

Octavia nodded eagerly beside him. His jaw clenches.

"Where the hell have you been the last year and a half," Bellamy growls, ignoring the soft sort of worship in Clarke's tone as she talks about the Grounders - the same people that killed them, hunted them, betrayed them. None of that seems to matter to her anymore, though. Octavia, beside him, buries her face in her hands and groans.

"Training, traveling, getting married, fighting a war...take your pick," Clarke answers, her tone neutral.

Octavia's head snaps up at the last on Clarke's list and Bellamy's jaw drops. _Married? Fighting a war? What?_

"War?" Octavia questions with a soft scowl, seemingly unconcerned with the fact that Clarke just dropped the bomb that she _got married_.

The blond shrugs. "The Ice Nation finally made their move. The Commander and I rode to meet them on the field and gave them a taste of defeat."

"Why didn't you send for us?" It takes Bellamy a second to realize that she's talking about herself and Lincoln, not them as a whole but hey, he just found out the woman he loves is _married_.

Clarke simply smirks, "You were needed here."

He files that away to bring up later. "Married!?" His screech (okay, yes, he's man enough to admit that he screeched) draws the attention of those closest to him, as well as Clarke's guard. Without even passing the burly men a glance, Clarke holds up a hands and they halt mid-step, begrudgingly returning to their makeshift camp site. Their sharp eyes remain on him.

"Yes, Bellamy. Lexa and I joined. A little over a year ago," her tone is calm, even.

It only pisses him off more - how can she be so blase about this? She fucking got married and none of them knew (though he suspects, now, that Octavia and Lincoln did...). Well, that and the fact that she married Lexa only three months after leaving him behind like a piece of trash.

"I - I can't fucking believe you!" He knows as soon as the words leave his mouth that he's made a mistake - Clarke's expression hardens to marble, her eyebrows drawing together in a scowl of anger. He's never been scared of her before, but he sure as hell is now.

"Silence," Clarke hisses, her blue eyes flashing dangerously and her jaw clenched. Her hand rests on the pommel of her sword and he stiffens. " _Control_ yourself."

It's enough to make him deflate and snap his jaw shut. He's seen Clarke snap at people before - mostly him - but this was a clear-as-day command, spoken with the authority of one that was used to being obeyed and didn't react well when she wasn't.

In a split second, she has herself tight under wraps once more, her face blank. Octavia, beside him, has her head bowed. It's not in shame for him, but in deference to the woman across the fire from them, like a wolf cowering before it's Alpha.

It's fitting.

Clarke clears her throat. "I must retire. Good night." Bellamy doesn't react, still reeling. Octavia breaths a respectful, ' _Gud sheidgeda_ , _Kehn_ ,' under her breath.

They remain silent as she retreats. Only after the blond has disappeared into her tent does Octavia whirl on her brother, punching his shoulder. It hurts more than he expected it to. "You fucking idiot," she hisses, much like Clarke but not near as fierce (not as terrifying). "She could have _killed_ you for that." She slaps him again. "This isn't the Clarke you're used to, Bell. She's the Heda's consort and co-ruler of the coalition. You can't _talk_ to her like that."

His sister's words tell him just how _epically_ he just fucked up. "I - I," he stutters.

Octavia sighs, "I know you don't know much about Grounder customs and culture but _Jesus_ ," she breaths. "She could have you killed by lifting a finger - hell, she could kill you herself - for disrespecting her like that. If you had been anyone else, she probably _would_ have."

Bellamy's head bows and he swallows roughly, "I just - I don't know who she is anymore, O. She randomly runs off one day and we don't see her for a year and a half and, all of a sudden, she's back and she's so different. I don't know how to talk to her. I don't know what happened to the girl I love."

Octavia's expression is solemn, both in sympathy for her brother and for the blond he pined after. "She adapted to survive, Bell. Just like we all have."

He doesn't respond. Octavia decides to leave him with his thoughts, joining Lincoln at the Kehn's fire, catching up with Clarke's guards.

Bellamy's thoughts kept him up late, that night.

* * *

Octavia wakes just as the sun crests the horizon. The cold spot beside her tells her Lincoln is already gone but she isn't surprised. He probably slept outside, by the Kehn's fire. She resists a smile at just how cute (and sexy, she admits) protective Lincoln is and he is nothing if not protective of Clarke.

She wonders if it has something to do with the fact that Clarke accepts him as both Trikru and Skikru. She wonders if it's because Clarke called him _her_ people. She wonders if it's because she saved his life and never persecuted him or judged him just because of his clan's actions. She wonders if it's because Clarke is like the sister he never had.

It's probably all of the above.

Either way, Octavia knows that Lincoln would die for Clarke before any of them, except maybe Lexa. It only makes her love him more.

She exits their tent and stretches, ridding her muscles of the ache of sleep. Most of the camp is still sleeping - only Clarke and her guards (including Lincoln) are awake, sitting around their fire and sharing a small breakfast. Octavia makes her way to them, plopping down beside her lover. Clarke, for the first time since her arrival in Camp Jaha, flashes her a wide, genuine smile. Octavia returns it in equal measure knowing that, right here, in her current company with six people she trusts with her life (and to keep silent), she is comfortable enough to let them see behind the mask of her command.

It lightens her heart while simultaneously making her realize how much she's missed her friend. They all exchange pleasantries, speaking in their own tongue as more and more Arkers emerge from their tents. It's small talk, the seven companions catching up on the events of the last eight months, the last time they all saw each other.

Octavia and Lincoln managed to sneak away from the camp - it wasn't too hard, really - to meet Clarke and Lexa on occasion. They'd hunted together, shared council (and maybe a little bit of gossip), sparred together. Clarke had spoken to Octavia eagerly about her and Lexa's bonding ceremony while Lexa and Lincoln spoke of war strategy or healing herbs. Other times, Octavia and Clarke would spar while Lexa and Lincoln gave helpful tips on their weak points.

She'd felt slightly guilty for hiding it away from camp, but the Trikru's ruling pair had been adamant that no one knew, so she held her tongue. No matter what title she holds, no matter what people she belongs to, no matter what Abby and Kane like to think, Clarke is her leader - yes, it was hard for Octavia to forgive the bombing of TonDC but a few long talks with Indra convinced the sky girl turned Trikru.

They'd met as often as they could which wasn't actually very often, the four of them growing a rather close bond until both Lexa and Clarke had to ride for Polis. Eight months had passed since that day and it seemed Clarke and Lexa had returned home.

"So," Octavia says after a while of trading inconsequential stories or facts, the language of the Trikru falling effortlessly from her lips, "Tell me about this war."

Clarke grins again, this time more reserved, aware of the eyes watching them. Her eyes hold an almost devilish light. "Well, Danaria finally slipped up. One of her men was captured in Polis after trying to assassinate me. She underestimated my skill with a blade."

Everyone at the circle save Clarke tenses, Lincoln most of all. It's a reaction that reminds her of Bellamy. Clark notices it and places a hand on his arm. "I'm fine," she drawls reassuringly, "He was a clumsy fool, didn't even draw blood. I suppose he didn't think that the helpless sky girl might not be so helpless after all." Her lips twitch with a hidden grin.

"Yes," Drax, one of Clarke's gruff (yet lovable) guards adds, "Kehn fought very well. Her foe was weak and she conquered him easily."

Clarke's glance shows her amusement. "Anyway," the Kehn continues, "we captured him and interrogated him. It took a while for him to break but Lexa _always_ makes them break," Clarke's smile, that time, is dangerous, dripping with pride. Octavia briefly wonders what the Clarke and Octavia that'd just landed on the drop ship would think of the women they'd turned into - warriors, never shying away from death, smiling fondly at thoughts of torture. They'd probably be horrified and disgusted.

 _Adapt to survive._

"He broke and told her Danaria ordered the hit. Less than a week later, we were riding to war," Clarke shrugs, as if this isn't anything.

"Why didn't you send for us," Lincoln grumbled, his posture still stiff though Octavia can't tell if it's from the assassination attempt, or the war Clarke had clearly fought in without him at her side. Again, she figures both.

"That's what I said," Octavia grumbles. Clarke doesn't chuckle, but the laughter in her eyes tells Octavia that she _wants_ to. However, she can't break her composure with so many eyes on them, especially now that the camp is getting more busy.

"You were needed here." The blond echoes her words from the night before.

It annoys the brunette girl, but she understands. Lincoln and Octavia were needed in camp to keep an eye on things - not as spies, per say...okay, as spies.

"I'll be sure to include you in the next war," Clarke teases, "There's sure to be one."

"Trouble?" Octavia perks up, only to deflate again when Clarke shakes her head.

"No, but there will always be another war. It is our way." They all nod, the truth of the words ringing with solemn clarity.

"Casualties?" Lincoln asks after a moment.

Clarke shrugs. "Less than a hundred of our men. Much, much more of theirs. Danaria is dead and Lexa has sent a general she can trust to take her place. The Ice Nation will no longer trouble us." She sounds glad for it, just a hint of sadness in her voice. "Pietros was lost - he died honorably, protecting Lexa."

Lincoln's eyes slip shut, his only sign of grief. He'd been closer to Pietros then the rest of them had been. Octavia places a gentle hand on his knee. "He will be missed."

Again, they all nod in agreement. Moments pass in silence before Clarke stands, adjusting one of her gauntlets. "Come. Let us train. I grow tired of idling around."

They all nearly jump to their feet, as eager as she is. The rush of holding a blade in your hand, feeling waves of adrenaline rush through your veins, the sweat beading down your back and the pleasant ache in your muscles was unmatched by almost anything else.

Clarke would say it doesn't compare to Lexa's touch; Octavia would say it doesn't compare to Lincoln's.

They start off slowly. Octavia and Clarke face off (the blond drawing both her swords simultaneously with a dramatic flair, causing O to roll her eye, but smirk), as do her guards in pairs of two. Lincoln merely watches, offering a comment now and then in trigedasleng. Sometimes, it makes them press harder for an advantage, or shift their posture to correct a weak spot.

It takes twenty minutes for Clarke to disarm her, but she knew the blond was going easy on her. Octavia can hold her own with some of the best but Clarke was trained by the Commander herself ; since the completion of her training, Octavia has never seen or heard of her being defeated, save by Lexa.

She can tell from the glint in Clarke's eyes that she's nowhere near done yet. The Kehn calls her guards to a halt, a smirk quirking her lips. With one sword, she motions to all of them, a warning in her eyes. " _Nou strein bakon_. _Tu fos jus_."

The men nod, though a bit nervously. Octavia smirks, standing off to one side beside Lincoln. He, too, looks smug, as if he already knows the outcome.

The guards circle her, balancing on the balls of their feet, swords held aloft threateningly. Clarke doesn't move a muscle, her own blades hanging limply at her sides, her grip loose. Her opponents know enough about her to not let this casual stance fool them. She's coiled as tight as a spring, like a panther ready to pounce. Against opponents so much bigger than her, she relies on speed and wit over strength.

It's Drax that is the first to strike. He charged with a roar, his long blade slashing wildly. The crowd that has slowly gathered around them all gasp as one, but Clarke moves like lightening, quick as a serpent, evading the blow and meeting her steel with his. Drax strikes again, holding nothing back as commanded, striking this way and that. Clarke easily deflects his every attack with a side-step or a duck and roll, only ever meeting his sword with her own when she absolutely has to.

It doesn't take long for Octavia to figure out her strategy - allow Drax to tire himself out, until his blows become sluggish and his defenses drop. It's only then that she goes on the defensive, slashing out quickly, the glare of her blades naught but a blur. The unexpected move causes Drax to falter. He puts up a valiant effort but, in less than fifteen seconds, Clarke has worked her way through his defenses and lashes out. A cut to the upper right forearm wells blood - it's not deep, barely a scratch, but it still bleeds. Drax is defeated.

He mutters a soft 'Kehn' under his breath before retreating from the circle - Clarke pays him no heed, her attention focused on the remaining three. They all trade glances, silently coming to the same consensus. Octavia catches on and shifts slightly, uncomfortable. She has never personally seen Clarke face so many (and so large) opponents at once.

"What's going on, here?" Bellamy's voice reaches her and Octavia restrains a groan while Lincoln fights a smile. Her brother comes to a stop right beside her just as the remaining three guards rush Clarke with snarls and sneers. Blond hair is lost in a tumble of muscle and skin, furs and swords. Collectively, the people of Camp Jaha (which have formed a circle around the battling blond) hold their breaths.

Bellamy's eyes are wide with fear and he moved to leap into the fray - Octavia's strong grasp is the only thing that holds him at bay. "What are you doing!?" He demands, trying to break her hold, "They're attacking her!" Lincoln, thankfully, snags the man instead because, though Octavia and strong and can hold her own with the best of them, her strength doesn't nearly match her brother's.

While he struggles against the Grounder's hold, Abby and Kane arrive as well, the former with wide, fearful eyes while the latter looks concerned and uncomfortable.

"They are sparring," Lincoln reassures them all, "They won't actually hurt her." His gaze flashes back to the circle and he spares a grin, "watch."

Octavia returns her gaze just in time to see Clarke's blade lash out, landing two neat but small cuts, one on Afton's thigh, the other across Derek's bare chest. Like Drax's wound, they're barely scratches, but the intent was never to harm the burly men, just to draw enough blood for victory. She has for three of her opponents, while not a scratch is seen on her.

Baldric falls soon after. Clarke sweeps his legs from beneath him, a foot pressing onto his chest as soon as he is on the ground and the blond's blade pressed against the soft flesh of his neck. She presses only hard enough for a single drop of blood to ooze from the wound.

She is victorious.

Camp Jaha erupts in applause. Clarke, for the first time, shows an open smile in the company of the arkers, sheathing one sword and holding out a hand for her fallen companion. Baldric takes it gratefully, though he heaves his own great weight to his feet - the blond's gesture exactly that. Just a gesture.

All three bow their heads, mimicking Drax's murmur of her title before retreating.

"It's a common rite among our people," Lincoln continues to the three leaders of the Skikru. "It's just sport. Whoever draws first blood is the victor. It is an honor to test one's strength against the Heda's chosen."

Kane's eyes widen at the title.

"It's barbaric," Abby whispers, having missed the 'heda's chosen' comment. Lincoln and Octavia both stiffen. The medic doesn't even realize she's insulted the pair, nor missed a vital piece of information as to the relationship between the Commander and her beloved daughter.

Lincoln, awkwardly, clears his throat. "Clarke is a natural - to have such skill for one not born into our ways is unheard of. Most swordsmen can train half their lives and not be as good as her."

The subject drops but Abby's offense still hands in the air.

Octavia stands stiff, her lover beside her doing the same, both returning their attention to their Kehn with clenched jaws. Clarke's chest is heaving, sweat beading her forehead but her eyes are rolling like the waters of the sea. She searches the crowd - Octavia knows what she's looking for before she finds it. Kehn's gaze settles on Lincoln and she inclines her chin.

It's his turn. He doesn't hesitate, stepping into the circle. Baldric hands him a sword, which he swings a few times to test the weight. Octavia fights not to grin like a maniac, knowing this is the best match yet. Lincoln and Clarke are almost perfectly matched, simply because they each know the other's moves as intimately as they do their own and can predict every attack before it even comes.

Abby shifts to her side. "You're going to allow this?"

Octavia's jaw clenched for a split second, biting back her response. She watches her lover and Kehn circle one another, each silently daring the other to make the first move with small, teasing lunges. "It is our way."

It's not the first time Abby looks at her differently, as if she is a stranger, but it's the first time that there's a hint of fear and disgust there.

"I don't control Lincoln, I am not his Commander. I am his mate, we are equals in all things," cool eyes turn to meet the Chancellor, "and _no one_ commands Clarke. Not me, not you, not Bellamy...not even Lexa."

Her sole attention is returned to the standoff, Abby ignored.

Surprisingly, it is Clarke that lunges first. Her blade is deflected, the sharp sound of six more attacks and parries following - the moves are almost so fast Octavia doesn't see them. Finding no weakness, the Kehn retreats and they return to circling each other.

Soft comments are thrown back and forth in trigedasleng, their tones neutral but their comments teasing. The Arkers have no idea what they say, but Octavia does. Drax, Derek, Baldric and Afton do and all five of them fight grins.

 _"I see you haven't lost your touch."_

 _"The commander is my wife, did you think she would let me go soft?"_

They leap together, trade a few furious blows before leaping apart once more.

 _"Perhaps not, but you're not going to beat me this time."_

 _"Keep telling yourself that, pretty boy. "_

 _"Just accept that you are outmatched, Kehn."_

 _"And shame myself and my clan? My wife? I think not. "_

Octavia grins and shakes her head, rolling her eyes for added effect. " _Oh, stop with the foreplay already and get on with it!_ "

The Kehn's guards chuckle, both Lincoln and Clarke sparing her a glance that lasts less than a second before their eyes lock again. A smirk tugs at Clarke's lips.

 _"Shall we give your mate what she desires, Linkon?"_

His grin matches her own. " _Yes, we shall."_

They collide violently. Steel meets steel, flesh meets flesh. Far too close to even think about bringing their blades into play (not without risking a potentially fatal injury, at least) Lincoln buries his free hand in Clarke's braids and pulls, causing the Kehn to hiss as her head is violently jerked back and her scalp screams. Her elbow rams forcefully into his jaw, causing the large man to falter and release his grasp. Clarke aims a kick for Lincoln's genitalia - he barely deflects and grunts as her knee collides forcefully with his muscled thigh. There are no rules in this match; they do whatever they can to get the advantage without crossing the line into mortal combat.

Clarke springs back, twirling her swords maliciously in her hands, features twisted into a snarl, teeth bared. There is a reason she is affectionately known as 'she wolf'. Another attack is launched, this time the pair keeping enough distance between them to test the strength of their steel. Violent clanks echo around the camp as they trade a flurry of blows, shifting from offense to defense flawlessly and without a hitch. No ground is given. No blood is drawn. Not yet.

The Skikru are enthralled, their eyes darting from one to the other and back again. Bellamy stands in awe, Abby is horror. Her hands cover her open mouth as she watching her daughter fight, what looks to be, a battle for her life with only the weak assurances of Octavia that they are just sparring (as if that's a comfort to a worried and terrified mother).

Octavia, herself, watches with morbid fascination and glee. Watching these two duel is her second favorite thing, right behind watching _Lexa_ and Clarke duel. There is a beauty to it that the Skikru don't appreciate (or, most of them anyway, if the looks of awe on Bellamy's, Jasper's, Nathan's and Raven's faces are anything to go by)

The battle continues as such for many long moments (Octavia estimates about thirty to forty-five minutes). Sometimes, Clarke and Lincoln get close enough to trade blows with their fists instead of their swords. At one point, Lincoln pins the blond to the ground and Clarke head buts him. They are both heaving for air, sweating through their clothes and showing signs of slowing but not a single second in the last forty-five minutes has a single pair of eyes left them.

The one move that ends it all is one Octavia has never seen before - and it comes from Clarke. She pours every single ounce of energy she has left into it and it leaves Octavia awestruck, jaw gaping, eyes wide.

She moves like lightening, tossing her swords aside almost violently and charging Lincoln with a roar. He is woefully unprepared and surprised by this and faltered long enough for Clarke to tackle him around his middle. As they fall, she tucks her body in on itself, her feet planting on Lincoln's belly and they flip mid-air. Lincoln goes sailing with one mighty push of Clarke's legs. He lands with a grunt even as the blond ducks into a roll and is on him in a split second, a dagger in her hand, pressed to his throat. Octavia doesn't even know where it comes from.

Lincoln freezes at the weight of his Kehn on his chest, at the sharpness of the blade at his throat. For a moment, he fears that Clarke has lost herself to the battle-lust, but one look in her clear, sparkling blue eyes tells him she is of sound mind. His hands raise in surrender.

Octavia's jaw is still on the ground, along with ninety percent of the Arkers. No one moves. No one breathes, not until Clarke pulls her dagger away and smiles. Dirt-covered and sweaty, grinning like a maniac, she looks feral.

She is, really. All of the grounders are, at least a little bit.

Camp Jaha erupts. If the cheers when Clarke bested her own guards were loud, these are deafening. Above it all, the loudest voices are Drax, Derek, Baldric and Afton, shouting the name 'Kehn' to the heavens like a prayer. Their grim faces are alight with pride and reverent respect. Octavia knows that each of these men would die without a second's pause for Clarke, and be more than happy to do it. They love her. They adore her. Above all, they respect her.

Octavia knows the feeling.

She remembers Bellamy asking her a question, a long time ago, back when the Alliance was still in it's genesis. 'Why do they wait on her hand and foot,' he asked, eyes on Lexa, 'they're warriors yet she treats them like fetching boys - why do they put up with it?' She hadn't had his answer then.

She does now because she can see every once of adoration in the bear-like men's eyes. They wait on Clarke hand and foot, they do as she bids without a second's hesitation (like fetch a cup of water or pitch the tents or _give their lives_ ) because doing those things honor them in biggest way possible. There is literally _nothing_ they would not do for Clarke (and Lexa, in turn) because they share a bond that the Skikru cannot understand - family.

Not in the innocent way the remains of the hundred considers themselves family, not even in the way Abby considers Clarke family. No, this is the type of family born from fighting side by side on a battle-field, from shedding blood together, from saving one another's lives, from tasting victory. It's the type of family born of doing anything necessary to ensure their people's survival. It's a family of no judgement and mutual, unending respect.

They don't understand, they _can't_ understand. But Octavia does. Clarke does.

The blond helps Lincoln from the ground, both of them grinning as if they just won the presidential election. Their forearms clasp. Lincoln gathers his fallen sword, returning it to Baldric. Clarke does the same, sheathing her own. Dagger still in hand, she approached her guards. They all stand stiff as a pole, chins tilted upward.

Camp Jaha collectively gasps as Clarke slices her hand and stops in front of Drax, the first to fall. Her hand covers the wound made by her sword, smearing her blood upon his own. Afton is next, the Kehn repeating the process on the wound on his thigh, Derek upon his chest and, lastly, Galderic upon his neck.

" _Jus drein, jus daun_ ," Clarke mutters.

All four men bow their heads, whispering, " _Mochof, Kehn_."

Clarke continues, speaking in their native tongue, " _You have fought well today and brought honor to your clan and to the Commander. I am grateful for your sacrifice of blood this day_."

Each and every man beams, unconcerned with keeping up appearances in front of the Arkers - their opinions mean little to any of them, not with words of such high praise from their Kehn.

"I don't understand," Abby whispers. Octavia opens her mouth to translate but, before she can, the older woman continues, "I don't understand how she could condone this...this... _savagery_. My daughter would _never_..." Octavia's jaw snaps shut abruptly as soon as the word 'condone' slips past Abby's lips, but the medic is unaware, her eyes never leaving Clarke, her expression shifting into a glower. Abby spits bitterly, "This was Lexa, wasn't it? Lexa did this to her."

Octavia growls, clenching her fists and storming away from her Kehn's mother before she hits the woman - only because she doesn't want to suffer through the ten lashes that would be her punishment.

She joins her people; Clarke, Lincoln, Drax, Afton, Derek and Baldric.

They don't understand. They'll _never_ understand.

* * *

It's dark by the time Kane seeks her out - most of the camp has gone to their tents or are lingering around dying fires, chatting excitedly about the showcase that morning.

She's with her horse, soothing hands stroking along a lean, muscular neck. It strikes him, once again, how eerily the mare's coat matches her master's hair. The powerful animal, easily towering over the slight girl, is as docile as a kitten, only shifting her weight every once in a while. Kane smiles a small smile.

"Kane," Clarke greets, never once turning. It causes the older man to start - he hadn't even realized she was aware of his presence, "What can I help you with."

The politician steps forward, slowly approaching, not wanting to startle Clarke's horse. The mare doesn't even twitch an ear in his direction. "Today was...impressive." Clarke's expression doesn't change but he notices the flash in her eyes. He likes to think he's an intelligent man and can recognize the display for what it was - a show of power. "It was on purpose, correct? You wanted to send us a message."

Clarke turns to meet his eyes. He tries not to be intimidated by the look he finds there - or, at least, to not show it. He isn't sure he's successful. "It was simply a way to blow off steam."

Kane smirks. He'd watched the entire display from the beginning, the second Clarke stood from her spot and paired off with Octavia. "It might have started off that way..." he challenged, yet always careful to be in deference to her.

Clarke's lips twitch into a smile. He relaxes just a margin. "I have forgotten how sharp of mind you are, Marcus."

The elder man smiles. It's kind, fatherly. "It was impressive. You have grown into a...magnificent woman, Clarke. Your father would be proud." Clarke stiffens just slightly at the mention of her father, but the look in her eyes in warm, thankful.

" _Mochof_."

He nods. "This word, it means thank you, right?"

Clarke nods, her lips twitching once more. " _Sha_."

The former Chancellor chuckles. Instead, his attention turns to the blond's war-horse. "May I?" he asks softly, nodding his head toward the animal. Clarke simply nods. Kane's hand is hesitant, at first. The only fur he's felt is that of the animals they hunt or from the pelts brought to them from TonDC (he suspects it is Lexa's doing, not Indra's). He is surprised by how soft, how _warm_ it is. "She is a beautiful animal."

Clarke nods, patting her beloved mount fondly. "Her name is Soncha - it means sunshine," she explains with an affectionate stroke. "She was a gift from Lexa," the girl pauses, "On our bonding day." Her hard eyes search Kane's expression - she seems surprised when he doesn't react.

Once more, Kane chuckles. "Octavia already dropped that bomb, Clarke. Besides, it doesn't come as much of a surprise to me, after the way you left us."

She glances away, back to Soncha, looking slightly like a scolded child but indignant all the same. "I will not apologize for that."

Kane places a soft, soothing hand on Clarke's shoulder, unsurprised when she flinches and stiffens. He summarizes that not many people touch her so casually, not anymore, so he withdraws. "I'm not asking you to. I don't blame you, either. We're done well for ourselves, even without our Skai heda."

Clarke's lips purse and Kane can tell it's in displeasure. "That is not my title - it hasn't been for a long time."

"It's what they called you," Kane shrugged, "Then, they started using a different word - never your name, but I was able to connect the dots. Kehn, was it?"

"Sha," Clarke breathes. She answers the next question before it even comes, "It means Queen or, Commander's consort, if you'd prefer."

Kane nods, solemnly studying the young girl for, even with her display of power and prowess that morning, even with the unbreakable command she seems to have under her, she is still a girl - to him, at least. "How are you doing, Clarke?" Kane asks softly, his tone genuine. "Really. An honest answer." He sees the blond hesitate and adds, "I won't repeat anything you tell me here."

"I," Clarke begins slowly, swallowing roughly. Kane is the first person, besides Octavia and Lincoln, in Camp Jaha to actually ask her that question. Everyone else seems more concerned with spitting venom at her because of how she's changed. "I am well," she answers honestly. "I am very well. I'm...happy. I think, for the first time since my father was..." she trails off, swallowing again, "I'm happy. She makes me happy."

Kane nods, satisfied with her answer. He'd seen the shadows that haunted Clarke's eyes, saw the herculean weight upon her shoulders. "I am glad."

Clarke dips her chin in a slight nod.

The paternal man is almost surprised by the soft, wistful sigh that slips past Clarke's lips - she seems surprised, as well, as if she can't believe she just showed such weakness, lost her calm composure for only a moment. He hides a smile. "You miss her," the former Chancellor observes.

It takes a long moment for Clarke to nod, whispering a soft 'sha' under her breath. The girl, for the first time since she arrived, looks young and vulnerable as she fights with herself to come to a decision - Kane isn't sure what that decision is until Clarke looks at him again, open, deciding to trust him. He's grateful for the honor as he studies her, her eyes holding a longing he cannot understand. "She arrives tomorrow. But it seems like years since I've last seen her." Clarke's eyes return to Soncha. "Every time I part from her," Clarke trails off, but he understands.

"So, go to her tonight," he returns, the words slipping from his lips before he can even process them. Her gaze snaps to his and Kane clears his throat. "TonDC is only a few hours ride away and I think you've more than proved that you can take care of yourself." They share a smile. "So go. I'll authorize the gate being open."

She wars with indecision, he can see it in her eyes. She doesn't answer him but she does move, the unexpected action causing him to start. Clarke hides a smile. He deflates, slightly disappointed, when she disappears from sight, silently scolding himself for pushing too hard. After all, he doesn't know this new Clarke, has no idea where her line lies. He doesn't know how to read the warnings and body-language, not when the blond is so closed off.

He is surprised, once again, when she returns with a saddle. Knowing what she has in mind, Kane steps back, watching silently as she tosses the bulky thing over the tall back of her mare. Only then does her horse stir into activity, her head lifting and ears swiveling back toward her mistress. Clarke calms her with a gentle hand.

The blond makes quick work of securing the saddle. Soncha is shifting uneasily now, sensing Clarke's excitement. The blond collects a bow and quiver full of arrows, tying them to the laces. Only when she's done does Clarke acknowledge that Kane is still there, grasping the reigns of her mount.

"I have to let my guards know," she explains. "They will stay here, but if morning comes and I'm missing, it won't be good for the Skaikru. I will meet you at the gates in ten minutes."

Marcus nods, watching the girl's back as she retreats toward the Grounder's tents, Soncha following. He retreats to the gates and waits for her. It takes her less than ten minutes to appear, Drax behind her, his expression displeased. They are speaking back and forth in quick trigedasleng, Marcus only understanding a few words - the guards beside him, even less.

But, it's clear that they're arguing, that Drax is trying to convince Clarke to let him come with her, or perhaps not leave at all. The word 'Heda' comes up once or twice, but Clarke isn't swayed. She barks something to the man and he stiffens, head bowed, whispered an ashamed and submissive, 'Sha, Kehn.'

Clarke is dressed as she was when she first rode through the gates, looking every inch the commander Marcus knows her to be. She mounts Soncha with a flair, her coat swirling around her. Marcus motions for the gates to be opened while Clarke gives her guard one last order. Only after the man nods does she turn her attention to him. Only a nod is given and the Kehn is spurring Soncha through the gates and into the darkness.

It's morning before anyone other than Marcus, the guards at the gate and Clarke's entourage realize Clarke is gone - it's nearly chaos when they do.

Abby and Bellamy are adamant that they go and find her - Clarke's guards are too, at first, as is Octavia and Lincoln. It isn't until Drax speaks that they calm down, if only marginally. He sees Octavia still arguing. Only Lincoln's calming hand on her shoulder calms her - the girl's face tightens into a scowl, but she goes silent.

It takes effort to talk Abby out of sending men out to look for her. Bellamy calls him on it first. "You knew she was leaving," his second accuses. Abby's eyes are alight with some form of betrayal as they look at him.

"Yes. I authorized the opening of the gates." He sighs slightly, ignoring the judgement in Abby's eyes. "She'll be back before nightfall." Kane hesitates for a moment before adding, "She rode out to meet Lexa and escort her to Camp Jaha." His slight lie has the desired effect - both Bellamy and Abby deflate.

They retreat, taking the small crowd that has gathered around with them. Their people are much too nosy, he observes with a frown.

* * *

 **Authors Note;** So, no Lexa this chapter, but she WILL be making an appearance in the next one! Keep an eye out for it! Also, let me know what you think of Grounder!Clarke - because I LOVED writing her.


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